


Baseball Tees

by thehoundisdead



Series: maybe it's the clothes on your back (maybe i'm in love) [2]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, oh my god they were roommates, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 02:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20481581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehoundisdead/pseuds/thehoundisdead
Summary: Blind dates are never a good idea, especially when they're set up by one Richie Tozier.This isn't a sequel, it's justmy last ficfrom Stan's perspective.Based onthis postNow in Russian!by the lovelyebutvoiprintcip





	Baseball Tees

Stan has been sitting on their couch for the last forty-five minutes. He has to work tomorrow; on week nights when he watches movies he likes to start them at around seven o’clock. That way he has time to relax and enjoy the film but still be in bed early enough to function at work the next morning. Tonight should be no different, except. 

Except Bill isn’t here. 

Which is so stupid because he doesn’t _ need _ Bill to watch a movie, he’s perfectly capable of having a nice night without him but they have a routine, okay? It’s a _ nice _ routine; one where Stan gets to steal Bill’s free time and look at Bill’s soft rumpled state from the corner of his eye. That’s what they _ should _ be doing tonight but Bill isn’t here and he didn’t tell Stan where he was going, not that he owes Stan an explanation, but. But it would be nice to know if he’s even coming home tonight. 

_ And if he’s goes home with someone else? _

Stan shakes his head; it doesn’t seem in character for Bill and he’s probably not doing that. Probably. Hopefully. _ God_, Stan sighs, _ I need to get a grip_. He can feel himself starting to fidget, fingers tugging at the stretchy elastic of his socks. He should just start his movie, it’s already getting late and if he waits much longer he’s going to be tired at work tomorrow and who knows, maybe Bill will come home during and-

There’s a key in the lock, he can hear it starting to turn, so he drops his hold on his sock, propping his elbow on the arm of the couch in an attempt to look casual except that’s _ too _ casual so he picks it back up and hurries to drop his hand in his lap just as Bill walks through the door. 

He’s wearing a forest green button up and dark jeans. He looks nice; more put together than usual, though normally he’s clacking away at his laptop in the middle of the night like a madman so, Stan supposes, there’s not really much cause to dress up for that. So he looks nice. But that’s not the Bill that Stan wants, not really, not _ now _. He wants Bill soft and wrinkled and warm. 

“Hey, you’re home,” he hears himself say as Bill drops his keys in their dish, trying not to sound like a giddy child. Slipping his hands casually underneath his thighs, he tries his best at nonchalance. 

“Yeah, I think my f-friend was starting to want some alone time with her b-boyfriend,” Bill shrugs, lifting a weight off Stan’s shoulders he didn’t realize was still hanging around. _ No date then. _

“I was just about to start _ Stand by Me _ if you want to watch it with me,” Stan says, realizing half way through how _ dumb _ waiting up for Bill was. He’s probably tired, after a night out with friends why would he want to stay up to watch a _ dumb _ movie with Stan, he probably just wants to go to bed or-

“S-sure, just let me go change real f-f...quick,” Bill smiles at him, this little crooked smile, one of his cheeks forming the ghost of a dimple that Stan so badly wants to touch, and tilts his head towards his room. Stan nods and he can feel himself smiling before he even really means to, too caught up in the endearingly soft way Bill just _ is_. 

Bill doesn’t take a long time to change, something that Stan is quietly grateful for (it is getting late after all), but he still finds his fingers inching down to tug nervously at his socks. There’s so many things Stan wants to say; to tell Bill he can always invite his friends over here, to say maybe they could all hang out together, _ ‘like a double date!’ _But no. They’re not dating and Stan would do good to remember that. 

The sound of Bill stepping into the hallway has Stan snapping his head up, fingers instinctively letting go of his socks to smooth out across his lap. He’s wearing gray sweats and a blue baseball tee. It’s worn and soft and Stan wants to curl his fingers into it, to drag Bill closer and closer until Stan can rest his head in the crook of his neck and hold onto that shirt tight enough to keep him there. 

Bill pads over to the couch and sits on the complete opposite side, leaving a foot of empty space between them. And that just won’t due. Stan _ waited up _ for this and he’s going to touch Bill whether Bill likes it or not. If Bill’s okay with it. He usually is, Stan thinks to himself with a small smile. So, after just a moment of hesitation, Stan moves to the side and all but throws his feet into Bill’s lap. There. If Bill doesn’t like that it will be very easy for him to push him off. 

Stan doesn’t want to watch whatever is happening on Bill’s face at the moment, _ what if he hates this, what if realizes what this means to me, what if- _ so he focuses his attention back on the TV and presses play. Bill is quiet and stiff and just when Stan is about to pull his feet back up and apologize, he feels Bill’s hand rest on his leg, his thumb gently brushing at the skin around his ankle. It’s so soft Stan could cry. 

The palm of Bill’s hand is warm, heat seeping in through his sock where he’s rested it. Stan has on dumb socks, dark blue and spotted with little jewish stars, that Richie had given him as a gag gift. Except they’re not dumb and Stan loves them and now Bill is playing with the fabric of those socks, fingers dancing along the velvetty material. 

Bill’s hands are soft, typing away at his computer all the time doesn’t exactly lead to calluses, and Stan desperately wants to know if he’s that soft everywhere else too. He wants to be wrapped in those arms, wants to feel that thumb brushing along his shoulder blade, wants to run his fingers through fine red hair and nose along Bill’s collar bone. 

He can feel Bill’s fingers moving, one of them wriggling with the edge of his sock, fingertip gently slipping underneath. When he glances at Bill from the corner of his eye all he sees is Bill raptly in attention to the movie. He doesn’t think Bill even realizes he’s doing it and something about that makes Stan smile, though he tries to keep it down. 

_ “I’m in the prime of my youth, and I’ll only be young once!” _

_ “Yeah, but you’re gonna be stupid for the rest of your life!” _

“You w-w-would like Chris the best,” Bill laughs, turning away from the movie to look at Stan fully. He smiles that crooked smile and Stan feels lost for just a fraction of a second. He’s not totally sure what Bill is referring to, maybe he hadn’t been paying as much attention to the movie as he should have been. 

“Excuse me?” Stan questions, furrowing his eyebrows in a way he hopes conveys he knows what’s going on in this conversation, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know, he’s smart and a bad boy and b-bitchy,” Bill laughs again and now Stan has a pretty good idea of what this is about, so he plays up his offense; face surprised and insulted as he watches Bill laugh these tiny little laughs. He wants to catch them all and keep them in a jar to save for later

“Are you calling _ me _ bitchy?” Stan asks, eyes going wide as he throws a hand across his chest, smiling gleefully in his head when Bill’s eyes follow the motion and linger there for just a little longer than necessary. 

“If the boot fuh-fits,” Bill’s voice is happy and his eyes dance with amusement and Stan is _ so _ in love with him. 

“Don’t you dare use Woody against me,” is all he says back though, pointing a finger at Bill’s face. 

“I’m just saying,” Bill laughs, fingers tightening around Stan’s ankle and for a split second Stan feels like a cat preening in the sun, “Have you h-heard the way you talk to Richie?”

“Well, _ someone _ has to keep Richie in check and I can’t trust Eddie to do it,” Stan wants to roll his eyes at this because Richie is his best friend in the whole world he doesn’t _ count _. He takes this as an opportunity to lean forward, inching closer and closer into Bill’s space, whispering, “He’s too fond.”

Something happens on Bill’s face just then. He goes all soft and glowy and warm but then he frowns and Stan doesn’t like that. So he slips his feet off of Bill’s lap and shoves his toes underneath Bill’s thigh, wiggling them in an attempt to wipe that look off his face, to make him smile. 

It works. 

~*-*~

“No.” 

“Oh, come on Stan! Stan the Man! Stanny!” Richie yells, throwing his hands above his head with a long suffering sigh. He collapses on the couch, landing full bodied on Eddie’s lap with a thump. 

“Get off me, dickwad,” Eddie spits, shoving Richie off his lap and onto the other side of the couch. 

“That’s not what your mom said last night,” Richie laughs as he crawls back over, pushing his face into Eddie’s shoulder and throwing one leg over his lap. This time Eddie doesn’t complain, he just lifts his arm up and lets Richie slide even closer, who shudders like a cat and looks up at Stan with a smug face. 

“See Staniel? This is what you could have if you _ just go on the date_,” he punctuates his point by smacking his lips obnoxiously against Eddie’s cheek. 

Eddie’s face goes pink under Richie’s touch and he looks up from his phone to meet Stan’s eyes from across the room with a serious expression, “Don’t go on the date, Stan.” 

“Oh, come on Spaghetti Man, you know you love me,” Richie’s eyes are gooey and soft and from across the room Stan can see the way Eddie melts under his gaze. His whole posture relaxes except for the grip of his fingers on Richie’s shoulder, which tightens ever so slightly. 

“I know I hate when you call me that,” Eddie snaps back with remarkably less bite than before. Richie just lets his head loll backwards and sighs at the ceiling as if to say, _ this again? _

“Oh please,” Richie waves away at Eddie before sitting up and turning all of his attention back to Stan, “Now listen, Stanakin Skywalker, you _ have _ to go on the date.” 

“No, I don’t,” Stan says back, repositioning the book he’d brought with him. He doesn’t know why he even bothers; reading while Richie is there is largely an impossibility, it’s just...

It’s Bill’s new book. 

Not that his friends know that; he bought the hardcover so he could switch the jacket with one from an accounting book. His friends _ don’t _ need to know that he’s been reading Bill’s books, _ especially _ not Bill. The last time he’d been caught was so embarrassing but the way Bill had smiled when he realized...It makes Stan’s heart flutter just to think about it. They’re not the type of stories Stan would usually enjoy; they’re filled with horrors and atrocities and nightmares, but the way he writes is captivating. And Stan thinks one of Bill’s new characters might be, just a little bit, based off of him. Or at least he hopes. The character is just written with so much care. 

He likes to think Bill might think of him like that. 

“Stanabelle, _ please_, you don’t understand!” Richie yells, jumping up from his spot on the couch, jostling Eddie in the process who simply gives Richie a pointed look and rolls his eyes. 

“I understand perfectly well, thanks,” Stan snaps back, still attempting to read his book. _ The curly haired boy shines in the breezy air, he seems to glow under the sun’s gaze even as he shares what he saw, of the terrific creature- _

“You’ll have so much fun!” Richie yells, pacing across the room, hand beginning to count off reasons, “There will be food and coffee, we all know how much you love coffee Café Ameri-stano, a nice afternoon out of the house, you might even get laid-”

“Again, no thanks,” he’s still looking at his book but he can’t quite retain anything with Richie yelling at him. 

“What do you _ mean _ no thanks!” Richie’s voice somehow gets even more high pitched, “You’re twenty-six, Stan! _ Twenty-six! _ You should want a social life!” 

“I _ have _ a social life,” Stan says, finally looking up, closing his book along the way, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Me and Eddie don’t count! You’ve known us your whole life!” 

“So? I’m talking to you, right?” Stan asks, raising one eyebrow, “Regretfully.” 

“Stanford, now is _ not _ the time for your sass!” And before Stan has time to think, Richie is there, throwing Stan’s book across the room and dropping himself into Stan’s lap. He grabs onto Stan’s face, a palm resting on each of his cheeks much to his displeasure, “You need to get out of the house.” 

“I am out of the house.” 

“You need to get out of my house too.”

“Well, if you’d get _ off _ me-”

“You know what I mean,” Richie says seriously, leaning his face in close to meet Stan’s eyes, “You can’t pine after Denbrough for the rest of your life.” 

“I am _ not_, what do you even, how dare-” his voice sounds flustered even to himself so he shakes his head and starts over, looking firmly at Richie, “I am not pining after Bill.” 

“You are!”

“I’m _ not_!” 

“You know you can’t lie to me-”

“One, yes I can and two, I’m not-”

“Enough!” Eddie snaps from his spot on the couch, dropping his phone on the side table with an annoyed sigh, “Look, Richie, you can’t make Stan do something he doesn’t want to do. But-” 

“_Babe_! How could you do this to me?” 

“_But_, Stan, maybe it would be a good idea for you to get out of the house,” the look Eddie gives him is entirely too meaningful until his eyes drift pointedly to the book laid haphazardly across the floor and Stan can feel his cheeks instantly start to burn hot. _ Of course _ Eddie would know, he’s somehow _ always _ able to see what Stan is most embarrassed about, “Might be something you should think about.” 

“I hate when you’re right,” Stan mutters after a short lived staring contest with Eddie.

“Yes!” Richie cheers, jumping off of Stan’s lap and raising his arms in victory, “I knew you’d finally see the light, Stanny Boy, you’re gonna thank me so hard after this date.” 

“I doubt that,” Stan mutters, crawling on hands and knees to grab at his book, making sure the jacket is perfectly in place as he stands up. 

“And you know, you don’t have to read that nerd shit all the time!” Richie shouts as Stan makes his way towards their door, “I mean sheesh, Stanalogue, it’s your day off!” 

Stan’s eyes flit to Eddie, who’s looking at him with a small amused smile. Stan smiles back, just a little, before shrugging, “I like nerdy shit.” 

And with that he’s out the door and on his way home. 

~*-*~

“Richie, I literally _ just _ left, what do you _ want? _” 

“You have to wear green, I forgot to mention that!”

Stan can feel a headache beginning to form behind his eyes, “Why, Richie?”

“I told your date you’d be wearing green!” there’s a slight pause and Stan can practically hear the waggle of Richie’s eyebrows, “And I have intel he’ll be wearing _ blue_. You’re favorite.” 

“That’s...” Stan trails off, lost in the image of Bill in his crumpled blue baseball tee, color bringing out the little flecks of amber in his eyes, the way it clashes with the streaks of red that run through his dark brown hair, “That’s fine, Richie. I’ll make sure to wear green.” 

“You could at least _ try _ to be a bit more excited about this.”

“I’ll try,” his voice is soft on the phone and he means it because he loves Bill but he can’t live his life in this strange half-stasis forever, “Promise.” 

“Good, then you can _ try _ to get into your date’s pants and-” 

“Beep beep, Richie.” 

“_Fine_, but just remember to-” 

“_Goodbye_, Richie.”

~*-*~

When Stan unlocks the door to their apartment, he’s hit with the smell of cooked chicken and spices. The further he walks in, the more he can feel the corners of his lips twitching up into a smile. Resting one elbow on the bar that separates the kitchen from the common room, chin placed gently on his hand, he watches as Bill sways around the kitchen. He still has his back to Stan; normally he would have heard Stan making his way around the apartment by now but the loud music he has playing to entertain his thoughts while he cooks might have impeded on that. 

_ In the car, in the car, in the backseat- _

Bill’s voice is soft as he sings along; he never stutters while he’s singing and even if he doesn’t have the best singing voice it’s still lovely to hear. Stan doesn’t remember allowing himself to smile big but before he knows it he can feel the traces of it lingering on his face. 

_ I’m your baby _

When Bill turns around he’s still half singing the song, but his face quickly morphs into one of surprise when he catches Stan watching him. It’s that look of surprise that schools Stan back into normalcy; he probably shouldn’t let all of his emotions wander out onto his face. Especially around Bill. 

“Y-you’re home,” Bill says, as if the idea is altogether shocking. Stan looks at the clock and honestly he’d normally be home earlier than this, so Bill’s expression is altogether unfounded. He picks his head off his hands and resolutely does not look at the floral set of oven mitts Bill is wearing. 

“Mmm,” he hums, cracking a crooked smile at Bill who’s still sporting owl eyes. 

“I didn’t think you’d be h-home this early,” Bill smiles back, “I d-didn’t feel like w-writing today, so I made Chicken Parm and M-mashed Potatoes. If you w-want some, that is.” 

“Boy, do I,” he smarts, voice filled with fake enthusiasm but he softens it with a sincere, “Everything smells great.” 

Bill ducks his head but Stan can see the smile that breaks out anyways. Seeing it makes something inside him crack and flutter. Stan fights every muscle in his face to keep his own smile down, “G-great. Should be ready in a f-few minutes.” 

_ Oh, be my once in a lifetime- _

The timer on the oven beeps loud, interrupting whatever moment they were possibly, maybe (probably not) having. Bill whirls around with pink cheeks and rushes to pull the food out before anything burns. The music is still playing, loud in volume but soft all the same. Stan has a flash of a daydream, of grabbing Bill, arms snaking around his neck, resting his head on Bill’s shoulder and swaying with him to the soft lulls of the song. 

_ I’m your baby _

Bill looks up at him, eyes questioning, probably wondering why Stan is still standing there just staring at him. There a piece of hair that’s fallen in his face and his eyes shine as he looks at Stan through his eyelashes. Wordlessly, Stan moves around the kitchen, grabbing plates and utensils and napkins. They skate around each other effortlessly, shoulders bumping intentionally on Stan’s part; it’s as close to dancing as they’ll ever get. 

Maybe this date will be good for Stan after all. 

~*-*~

Stan stands outside the coffee shop, peering in through the window panes. His eyes flit around the room, looking for blue shirts and the promise of a corner seat. There’s a few people chatting, others with headphones on, glaring at computer screens and then there’s...

Well then there’s Bill. 

Sitting in the corner seat, with a royal blue shirt, hands twitching nervously from where they rest on the table. It’s a habit Stan’s noticed before; everytime he sees it he fights the urge to grab Bill’s hand and straighten out those fingers. 

He watches Bill shake his head and flatten his hands on the countertop, leaning forward to look out the window more clearly. It’s what he always does when they go to the café together, when he gets tired of whatever frightful line of thought he’s been playing with. He people watches and Stan watches him. It’s almost fair. 

His eyes dart around the room, looking for anyone else who might be his date but he comes up with nothing. There’s a swell of hope in his chest and a nervous thrum in his veins as he carefully opens the door to the café and walks over to Bill’s table. Bill doesn’t look up once. Stan’s not sure what that means, exactly. 

“Ahem,” he mutters from above Bill when Bill still makes no motion to acknowledge him. The noise seems to startle him though; his head snaps around and for an instant he looks almost angry. Stan can feel his own face furrowed, a confused tint on his features. 

“Stan?” Bill asks, “I’m s-sorry, I can’t really hang out right now, I’m waiting for my duh-duh-date.” 

“I know,” Stan feels himself nodding with a conviction he doesn’t quite feel. He can feel the way Bill’s eyes follow him as he pulls out his own chair and slides into the seat across from him, and then in a moment of what is obviously sheer insanity, Stan decides to be honest, “I think I’m your date.”

“W-what?” The look on Bill’s face makes it clear he’s never even considered a date with Stan in the realm of possibility, leaving a small ache in Stan’s chest. 

“I mean you’re...” Stan starts and then stops as a wave of renewed nervousness washes over him, “Blue shirt, six o’clock? The café down the street?”

“Did B-Ben set this up for you?” Bill asks, his eyes trailing up and down Stan’s body again and again. 

“Indirectly, I suppose,” Stan posits, lifting one perfect eyebrow at Bill, “Mostly, I think it was Richie, he must have thought something like this would be funny, I’m gonna-” 

“Funny?” the look on Bill’s face cuts Stan; his lips twinge downwards and his eyebrows crease together but really it’s his eyes. Brown eyes wide and painted melancholy and shiny with unbridled fear. It’s a look Stan doesn’t wholly understand. 

“To set me up with my straight roommate,” he can feel his lips moving slowly, too slowly, but he’s mostly focusing on trying to work this out in his own head, _ Why does Bill look so sad, he shouldn’t be sad- _“You know, haha how awkward.” 

“Y-y-you think I’m stra-stra-str-” Bill tries to force out, stumbling over the sounds. Stan can see the frustration on his face when he stops and takes a deep breath, “You think I’m s-straight?”

“Well, I mean,” he starts, sounding dumb even to his own ears, “Aren’t you?” 

“N-no! I thought y-you were _ straight_!” 

“_ Me _ ?” and Stanley can’t decide if he sounds more offended or surprised. Surprised, probably, although _ come on _ Bill, “You think _ I’m _ straight?” 

“You never s-said anything!” Bill nearly shouts, voice just a little too loud for the quiet environment of the shop. Stan can see one woman lift her eyes from her laptop to stare at Bill. He sends daggers her way; when Stan catches her gaze she looks caught out and shuffles her eyes back to her screen. Good. 

“Neither did you!” 

“No, I’ve just been f-flirting with you this whole time!” Bill does shout this time but his eyes widen as soon the words are out and then he drops them, refusing to look at Stan. Pulling his hand away, he slinks further and further back into his own space. 

“Bill,” Stan says, trying to stay calm even though he feels like fireworks are exploding in his veins, “You’ve been flirting with me?”

“Yes,” Bill whispers, finally looking up at him again. Stan can feel himself beginning to smile, big, the corners of his lips pulling up wide, cheeks dusted with rosy blush. He reaches out then, grabbing at the hand Bill still has pressed flat against the table and flipping it up so he can thread their fingers together. Bill’s hand is warm and soft and holding it is everything Stan hoped it would be so he squeezes those fingers tighter in between his, just a little, just enough for Bill to feel the pressure. 

“I wish I had known,” he says honestly, softly, ducking his own head to keep Bill from seeing the worst of his blush, “We could have gone out a lot sooner.” 

“C’mon,” he says through a grin, pulling Bill up with him, “Let’s get coffee and walk to the park, there’s this really cool bird’s nest I noticed the last time I was there and-” 

~*-*~

Stan finds an entire drawer in Bill’s room filled with soft baseball tees. He can’t decide what he likes more; coming home to Bill in one of them, warm and bleary eyed from writing, or stealing them for himself and getting to see the fond look in Bill’s eyes when he recognizes it as his own. 

He likes to put them on and sneak into Bill’s bed, crowding into his space under the covers. He likes the way he can feel Bill’s hands on the other side of the shirt, warm and gentle and inviting. He likes when Bill’s fingers inch underneath the shirt, skin on skin as his thumbs rub tender patterns into his hip, his spine, his shoulders. 

He uses the shirts as his defense when Bill brings up his socks. After all, how can Bill criticize the little kitschy designs on his socks when he has fifteen of the same shirt just laying around, waiting for Stan to steal? _ Excuse me, but I’m not the one who can’t pick out more than one shirt, Billiam. _Bill just laughs and neither of them point out how much Stan loves them. But it’s okay because Stan is pretty sure Bill loves his stupid socks too, and the way Stan presses them softly against his legs when they fall asleep at night. 

“Hey Bill?” Stan asks in a sleepy voice, nose dragging up and down the length of Bill’s jaw, once, twice, three times-

“Yeah?” Bill asks back, voice equally tired even though the sun is starting to shine through their window, just a little, just enough to make the red in his hair gleam. 

“I think I fell in love with you a while ago,” he says, trying to sound casual even though his heart feels like it’s beating out his chest. So, he presses his lips against the underside of Bill’s jaw, firm enough to feel the heat that’s beginning to rise under his skin wherever Stan touches him. 

“Me too, Stan,” Bill finally says into their quiet half-dark room, his hold on Stan tightening, pulling him in closer, “I love you too.” 

~*-*~

“Tell me I’m right,” Richie says, the second he opens the door and sees Bill crowding into Stan’s space on his doorstep. 

“No,” Stan deadpans, pushing past Richie and dragging Bill with him, who looks apologetically at Richie when he accidentally bumps shoulders with him. Richie doesn’t seem to mind though, still too preoccupied with Stan’s offense. 

“Oh, come on, Stanarry, you owe this all to me! Without me you’d still just be pathetically reading Bill’s books in my house, pining away-”

“Beep, beep, Richie!” Stan half shouts, trying to make his voice louder than Richie’s and ignore the fact that his face is now bright red. He can feel Bill’s eyes trained on him but he refuses to look, instead turning to glare at Eddie who’s taken a sudden deep interest in his own hand, “Eddie.” 

“Look, I’m sorry, but he would not stop talking about you reading accounting books and _ you _ don’t have to live with him, okay, so maybe you should have some sympathy for _ me_,” Eddie speed talks. It’s something he’s done since they were all kids, usually directed at Richie, when he’s too indignant to speak calmly. 

“Listen, Eddie Spaghetti, we all know you chose this life, and _ you_,” Richie says, whirling around to point a finger in Stan’s face, “Tell me I’m right.” 

“I would let death take me before I _ ever _ say those words to you,” and okay _ maybe _ that’s a little melodramatic but Stan isn’t about to let that stop him, “Besides, you could have ruined everything. You could have _ told _ me Bill would be my date, you know.” 

Richie’s indignant squawk is largely ignored on Stan’s part because when he looks up Bill’s eyes are still rested on him, and where Stan expected to be embarrassed he’s not. Because those eyes are shining, half amused and half in love, “Mm, b-but where’s the fun in that?”

  


**Author's Note:**

> [talk to me on tumblr!](https://stanleyyelnatsthethird.tumblr.com)


End file.
